


hearts n diamonds

by troof



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Forgiveness, M/M, Robbery, actually definitely, don't know what to tag yet, lance breaks up with allura but they're probably going to get back together, thieves, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-08-28 08:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troof/pseuds/troof
Summary: Keith's all set to steal a diamond along with his team, but a cute security guard stands in the way. Keith doesn't know anything about love, but he does know about robbing museums.





	1. Diamond

Behind Keith, saddled in a plush velvet pillow and shrouded in a cube of a glass case, sits the world's largest diamond. Its facets are too numerous to count, each plane defined by laser-cut edges and the light that passes through. Beneath it, the museum has nailed a plaque describing the history, but Keith knows it by heart.

He walks on to the next exhibit, a 3-D sculpture of a dancing human. He doesn't want to stay too long by the diamond lest he arouse suspicion. Maybe it's his paranoia, but he already feels security's eyes on the back of his neck, a prickling sensation that raises the hairs there. But he's just another visitor.

Keith forces himself to take a deep breath and slow his heart rate. Soon, he'll have as long to look at the jewel as he wants. He just has to be patient. 

Keith's always liked art galleries. This room doesn't seem to have any particular theme, just 3-D art, modern sculpture, and expensive things that people can walk around. Not many still-life paintings; Keith knows the famous Impressionist paintings that are here, but the museum has spread them out, not wanting to showcase its treasures all in one place. What would be the fun in that?

Keith keeps his sweater draped over his arm as he moves around the room, appreciating the next piece. He's always felt alone in these places, but it's a good kind. Peacefully alone. In the background he can hear the cold sound of heels clicking over the marble tile and echoing off the wide walls, but the voices never grow above a murmur. His own sneakers never make any noise or squeak along the tile, and for a sharp second he feels painfully underdressed, but as soon as it comes, the sensation passes. His hair is tied back. His shirt is tailored. For once, he's in slacks that aren't jeans. He fits in.

“The guard's watching you,” Keith hears in his earpiece. “Three o'clock.” He wants to respond, but he doesn't want to arouse suspicion. He and Pidge will talk once they get out of here; she understands. 

Keith looks to his right where Pidge indicated and sees the guard hastily turn away, startled at being caught staring. It's his job, Keith knows, to watch the artifacts and make sure visitors don't overstep their bounds, but it still makes him uneasy. A better man wouldn't have looked, but Keith's not perfect yet.

The man looks casual enough, dressed in a v-neck and khakis and seated in the doorway between two galleries, except his muscles are huge. Keith can see the fabric stretch tight over his chest from here. The only reason he's not in uniform is to not alarm the visitors, but Keith knows there's probably a radio clipped on him somewhere. 

He has a scar that runs over his nose in a thin line, but Keith can't help but find it interesting. How'd he get it? What happened? Was it here? Who gave it to him? 

He imagines himself having to hurt the guard, his eyes and mouth wide with shock as Keith comes at him with a weapon. Something in him clenches at that--he doesn't want that. With his back to the guard, Keith hopes he has things that make him happy, things that make his eyes crinkle and go soft. Like a dog. Don't some security guards have dogs?

He passes the corner in appreciation of more art, and before he can get farther, he's stopped.

“Are you Keith?”

Keith's back snaps ramrod straight.

“How do you know my name?”

“You came here a lot, as a child.”

Unfortunately, he's right. The orphanage is nearby, and for some reason, the nuns liked to take them here occasionally to show them all the things they couldn't have. He was bitter at first, but as he grew older, he eventually realized he liked looking at art, and came on his own. Still, he must have been around fifteen or sixteen at the time. This guy has a good memory.

Keith scratches his head and has the decency to look down at his sneakers in shame.

“Yeah, sorry. I know I would stomp and yell and touch things I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I just--really hated that place, you know? I grew up in the orphanage across town, and I wasn't the best kid. Didn't mean to cause any trouble on your end.”

The man smiles and his teeth are blindingly white. Unfairly so. If Keith had teeth like that, he'd pose for commercials. 

“Don't worry. Tackling trouble is our job. I signed up for it. Also, I've seen much worse.”

“Worse than me? I was a pretty bad kid.”

“You, bad? Oh, no, you were tame compared to what we usually get in the afternoons. Picture this: school field trips.” Shiro puts his hands out like he's framing something. “Kids tried to start a game of tag about a year ago, and we actually had a vase get damaged.”

Keith laughs, forgiving himself a little for the messes he used to cause. “That is pretty bad.”

“The director wasn't happy.” 

“I bet. I mean, at least I didn't cause any damage. I mostly just scared everyone.”

“Why are you talking to him?” Pidge hisses through his earpiece. Keith wants to respond that he's allaying suspicion--if he left now the man would be curious as to why he was in such a rush to leave, but also, the man remembers him anyway and he wants to talk to him, so why not? Pidge is not in control, no matter how much she thinks she has to be.

“Takashi, huh? That's a nice name.”

“It's Shiro, actually. Short for ‘Shirogane.’ Most people don't call me Takashi anymore.”

“Your name tag says ‘Takashi.’ What's the point of having a name tag if it isn't right?”

“I started going by ‘Shiro’ only recently. It's a new thing I'm trying out. Just haven't gotten a new name tag yet.”

“Oh.”

“Keeeeeith,” Pidge complains into the microphone on her end. If he listens very closely, he can hear the static of her taking the headset off to probably complain to Lance and Hunk on the other end, but he'll deal with that later.

“What's your name, by the way?”

“Keith.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shiro offers his hand and Keith takes it, noticing how small his hand is compared to Shiro's and how good it feels to be enclosed in that warmth.

All of a sudden, a screeching pterodactyl sounds in his ear. He doubles over to cup his hands over his ears before he remembers that the offending piece of equipment is inside, at which he sticks his finger in, pulls out the little piece of equipment, and shoves it in his pocket.

“Keith, are you okay?” 

“Yes, yes, everything's fine.” He tries to smile convincingly, but he's not sure he pulls it off. He really needs to work on his expressions. “Hearing aid malfunction.”

“I didn't even notice you had one.”

“Yeah, well, technology's come so far now they make them really small these days, so you can't always see them.”

“Can you hear me okay?” 

“Yeah.” Keith shakes his head to get the last of the squealing noise out of his brain. “We're close, so it's pretty easy.”

“Technology's so advanced, yet it can't stop you from getting feedback at inopportune times.”

“Yep, pretty much.”

If Pidge is upset enough to cause feedback on the mic, he should probably listen to her and get back to base, or at least stop talking to Shiro. In every heist they've pulled off, she's been his better half, and stopped him from making rash decisions they would all later regret. But he's not harming the mission. Like he said, Shiro remembered him anyways, and sometimes, being a thief gets lonely.

Still, he needs to talk to her.

“Excuse me,” he says, flashing a smile. Shiro nods like this is the most natural thing in the world, and Keith finds his way around the corner to the men's room which is, like the gallery floor, thankfully empty. 

The room is fragrant; the scent of pine needles permeates when he enters the room, and an unobtrusive rendering of trees in fall hangs on the wall on the far end. This place has art everwhere. He looks under the stalls to make sure they're truly empty, and then he places the device back in his ear.

“Pidge? Pidge, are you there?”

“How could you do that?” she says, directed at him. “We are one week from stealing one of the greatest quarries in history and you're chatting with a security guard like you're old friends? We don't need that now.”

“Stop trying to control me, I said he recognized me from before.”

“You're just talking to him because you think he's hot!”

“Wait, hold on. I never said that. You said that.”

“I can see it in your body language. The way you're open, the way you lean towards him.”

“He recognized me from a long time ago, and I would never do anything with him. I know you're worried about me because this museum is a place I came to as a child, but I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the mission. You have to understand that.”

Pidge sighs. “You took the mic out.”

“Because you were hurting my ears. You can't just control everything from your computer screen. People have free will. You have to understand that sometimes.”

He hears something else on the other side. Shifting as the microphone rubbed against fabric, maybe Hunk's voice, and then Pidge comes back on.

“Sorry. We've been working together a long time. I guess I should trust your judgment.”

“Okay.”

“But can you please not take the microphone out next time? I need to be able to contact you.”

“Yeah, of course. Just don't do the thing with the feedback again, it really hurts.”

“That was an accident.”

“A well-timed accident.”

“Sometimes we make mistakes.” He knows that to be true. Even though they're an elite team, they're still human. “You got everything you need on security?”

“Almost. Most galleries have four or five cameras, and they all have guards posted from when the museum opens until close. I can finish the floor plans when I get back.”

“That's great. Lance has a plan of the vents. He thinks he may have a route if we can't get in through the windows.”

“Oh God, really? Last time, my knees were bruised for a week.” Keith hates crawling through vents; he'd rather avoid it if at all possible. One of these days, he'll see if he can rig an opening to ensure it's unlocked later. The cameras though...those'll be a problem.

“Sucks to be you.”

“What would you know, you didn't even have to do it. Even though you're the smallest of all of us, and would probably fit.”

“What can I say, I'm needed back here. Computer skills are essential.” 

“Whatever you say.” She's right, though. Without Pidge, this whole operation could never happen. 

He leaves the bathroom after using it, washing his hands and drying them under high-pressure air that's state-of-the-art, then returns to the gallery to see if Shiro's there.

He's not. He hoped to see him again and ask about the museum, but it's another guard who's taken his spot, this time a woman. Keith can clearly see the radio clipped to her belt along with a taser. 

Luckily, he sees Shiro again at the main desk by the entrance, and his heart skips a beat. He can't stop himself from swinging by.

“Did you enjoy the exhibits?” asks Shiro.

“I did, very much.” They talk about Keith's favorite art, and Shiro throws his in there, too. It turns out they have a lot of the same preferences.

Sunlight is slanting through the ceiling-high windows, bathing the lobby and all its glass displays in golden light. Although pretty, for Keith, sunsets have always brought on an air of sadness. When he's not looking at the neon orange and pink scorching the bottom of clouds, it makes him think of the end of an era.

“Is there anything else I can help with? do you have any more questions? About the museum?”

He wants to have something else to say to draw out their conversation, because he likes the man's voice and a certain sincerity when he talks, but suddenly he can't think of anything else. “Nope,” Keith says, shaking his head, “that's it.”

They stare at each other for a second, both with a half-formed smile on their face not knowing where to go next, and Keith has to say something or this man is going to go.

“I just can't believe you remember me after all this time. I don't think I even noticed you.”

Shiro's face falls, but he catches himself before Keith can examine it further.

“Well. We're trained to notice things, to remember...you just happened to come here a lot, that's all.”

“Through no choice of my own.”

Behind the desk, Shiro starts twirling his pen between his fingers. It catches Keith's eye and he watches it before Shiro catches himself and stops.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you something? About the orphanage?”

Shiro's eyes are shining, but Keith feels his blood run cold. He doesn't like to remember that place if he can, and talking about it brings back all the unwanted memories.

But Shiro's not trying to hurt him. He just wants to know--

A siren splits their conversation like an axe through a log. The museum lights flash overhead, slowly oscillating between their normal white and a dark red. 

“We have an incident in Gallery 3, on the second floor. Request for backup,” says the speaker on Shiro's radio, too loud for a human voice even with the alarm.

Shiro presses the button down and responds, “Got it. I'll be right there.”

The guard next to him picks up the phone and says over the speaker system that everyone should evacuate, and the most important thing is to remain calm.

“Sorry, Keith, got to go,” Shiro says.

“What's happening?”

“Don't know.” He checks his gun in the holster. “Guess we'll find out.”

He wants to tell Shiro to be safe, but he doesn't get a chance before he's gone, headed to the upper gallery. That's where Keith's planned to execute a robbery himself.

Before he can say anything, he's shuffled out of the library with a bunch of other tourists, who run their cameras and bump into each other like atoms in a pressurized gas, just as confused as he is.


	2. amethyst

Keith stares at the headline in disbelief once Pidge slaps the newspaper down on their table for dramatic effect. It's lucky he wasn't sipping his coffee, or he might have dribbled some out.

Art Museum Robbed

“Well, it's not going to read itself,” she says.

“Lance, if you would do the honors,” says Hunk, making a grand gesture that screams, “after you.”

“I already read about this online. Why do I gotta read it again?”

“The newspaper has some very interesting information, as well as interviews from the people involved. Your security guard caught someone.” She raises an eyebrow at Keith. “Besides--there's something about newspapers. They're old-fashioned, but I like having something in my hands. It feels more professional. And, if you see something you like, you can make news clippings for later.”

“Read it,” Lance says, flipping to the next page. He says it again after he finishes reading that one. “How does anyone find their way through these things when they print the article on three separate pages?”

“You said it talks about Shiro.” Keith grabs for the front page of the newspaper, and Lance passes it to him, straightening the sheaf of paper so it doesn't fall out of his hold.

“That's the second page, hold on.” Lance hands him the correct sheet this time, and Keith drinks it. “I still can't believe you were there. I mean, what are the chances that someone robbed the same gallery we were planning to rob right when you were there?”

“Probably one in eight million,” Hunk adds.

“This place does have a history of getting robbed.” 

“Yeah, but nobody's taken the diamond before.”

“It's only been there for eight years.”

Keith wishes everyone would shut up because he's trying to read. He doesn't say so, but he thinks it all the same. 

According to a quote from the museum director, nothing was taken. A search of the museum showed everything as they left it. So, these perpetrators failed. They should find out where they went wrong so they don't end up like them.

A black and white photo shows Shiro gripping a man by the arm while the man scowls at him in the museum lobby. He can't see the handcuffs, but he assumes the man's wrists have been restrained behind his back. The caption says his name is James Griffin (left). He wonders if it would be possible to talk to him.

“This is terrible. Now they're going to redo the entire security system,” Pidge moans. “Plus, they'll be on high alert. We basically have to start over from scratch.”

“Or, we could strike now, while they're in disarray.”

“Hunk, you have the best ideas.”

“So this guy, James Griffin...you think we could talk to him?” Keith asks.

“No shot. They want him to say who he's working with, but he won't budge. Even if we could get to him, there's no way he'd cooperate,” says Lance.

“Are you finished with that?” Keith asks, pointing to the paper. Lance hands him the final page of the article.

“You could talk to Shiro,” Pidge says, “Didn't you say he gave you his number?”

Originally, Keith thought Shiro went right upstairs after getting the call, but afterwards, he looked on the desk, and Shiro had scribbled a number there on the back of a pamphlet with his name.

He texted it later that night.

_What happened? Are you all right?_

_Watch the news._

Keith did.

He saw the flashing lights, and the swarming policemen with their guns that set up the perimeter. This had never happened on one of their jobs, but there was always the possibility. For a flash of a second he sympathized with the people who had been caught in the act, but it disappeared as soon as it came. If they were inept enough to get caught in the act, in his opinion, they deserved it. 

_Are you okay?_ he tried again. Shiro didn't text back for a number of hours, but sometime in the morning he got a response.

_Yes, Keith, thank you for asking. It's going to be really busy for the next few days but I promise once it's all over I'll tell you about it._

_Can't wait to hear._

He received no responses after that, so he assumed Shiro was, like he said, busy.

Besides, he's reluctant to drag Shiro into this. He doesn't want to deceive him, be two-faced if he can help it. Yes, he's had to lie to people before, and that's what his life is like, but if he can keep Shiro out of it, he'd like to. He doesn't know why; he thinks it's the part of him that wishes he could go after him romantically in another place and time. If he doesn't close off this road, it will always have been a possibility.

But, they need it. The news drones on in the background in their modified warehouse they're using for a base, and even once they've told all the information, the broadcast plays in a loop. Most of the information is focused on the investigation now, how they've found other links but still can't get the perpetrator to talk. Griffin's a smart man.

By now, Keith figures Shiro's not busy, and even if he is, he needs a break.

_How are you?_ he asks, feeling a rush.

_Good. A little worse for the wear, but, you know._

_I heard the thief was your catch?_

_Yeah. He was a tough one. Ran for it just as I was coming up, and I had to stop him._

_Did he fight? He's a dangerous man. I really want to know if you're okay._

_Not much. It happened really quickly, and there were several of us there. Yes, Keith, I'm fine._

_Prove it._

_I...uh…? How?_

_Meet with me? I thought you wanted to catch up._

_I do, but now's really not a good time._

_I'm leaving town Saturday,_ Keith lies. That's in three days. _How about a break?_

He doesn't receive an answer for a good fifteen minutes, but after that, his phone buzzes and he clicks it on. Shiro's invited him to the Café du Monde at 9. He loves a good coffee, sometimes a milkshake. He accepts.

“I got a date with Shiro, guys,” he announces to the room at large.

“Great, so now you can pump him for info,” says Pidge. Keith slumps in his chair.

“I really don't want to pump him for info...but I guess..I will,” Keith resigns.

“Why not?” asks Lance. “You like him that much?”

“You ever get that feeling you're ruining a good thing before it even starts? It feels like that.”

“We're thieves. We steal everything we touch. I don't know if that qualifies as ‘ruining things,’ but if it does, I've gotten used to it.”

Keith sighs. “What are you going to do while I'm gone?”

“Watch your date, of course.”

\---

It isn't a date, not officially. It's just Keith meeting with Shiro in a nice location so they can catch up. He's worn a puffy red coat to protect him from the wind and paired it with a V-neck and his favorite shades. The shades make him look suspicious, but they also make him happy, and if he has to use Shiro he gets one thing for himself as well. 

Shiro's waiting for him in a wire chair outside under an umbrella, arms splayed over the back of the chair. Keith pulls out a chair next to him and sits down.

“Keith! Good to see you.”

Keith smiles despite himself and hides under his bangs. Shiro hasn't ordered yet, so they both grab the menus and peruse them until a waiter approaches, having been waiting in the corner this entire time for the arrival of Shiro's +1.

“What can I get you gentlemen today?”

Shiro nods to Keith to order first.

“I'll have a venti soy latte, double-shot.” The waiter scribbles on his notebook, then turns to Shiro.

“How about a grande strawberries and creme frappuccino with whip?” 

“Okay, I'll have that out for you here in a second.” They fold their menus and hand them to the waiter to take away. He shuffles back to the kitchen and it's just them in the summer air.

If he looks closer, Shiro has dark circles under his eyes, and the hair that he's used to seeing combed is matted against the side of his head, as if he's been sleeping and forgot to fix it when he wakes up.

“You look good today,” Keith tells him. He doesn't, but the way Shiro blinks rapidly and smiles shyly is worth it.

“Really? I feel like I've been running on empty. This stuff is exciting, but--if something goes wrong, all of the heat is on our shoulders.”

“Really, yes. You look good.”

“Thanks, Keith.”

“So what have you been doing that's taken up so much time lately?” 

“Well, first we had to go through the museum and make sure nothing was taken. Go through security footage, see if we could pick anyone else out in the crowd who was part of it, and now we're on watch for 24 hours while the museum is closed down…I'd really rather we not talk about it, these past few days have been a mess.” Shiro's pinching his nose to alleviate the stress and Keith doesn't want to cause him any more.

“Okay, okay, we don't have to, then, we can talk about...something else.” He doesn't know what that something is, and this might devolve into awkward silence, but he's willing to take that chance. 

At first he considers asking if this is a date, but he throws that out immediately because it's a bad question. There's no quicker way to confirm that this isn't a date than asking whether or not it's a date, so he doesn't ask.

The waiter brings their drinks, and he sips his soy latte while Shiro stares at the top of his drink. “You wanted to know about the orphanage?” He didn't want to talk about it at first, but now it's on his terms.

“Yeah. A few years ago, when I had a boyfriend, we were thinking about adopting, but then he left me and the idea kind of fell by the wayside. Then I figured, I'm not getting any younger, and I might never find a person who's into that anyways, so I should think about doing it myself. Can you do that? As a single parent?”

Keith masks his reaction to the fact that Shiro's gay and files the information away for later.

“You can. As long as there's proof you can support the child. Don't know why you'd want to, though, most single parents are looking to get rid of theirs.”

“Is that what happened with you?”

“No, my father died in a fire. Mom left when I was a baby, so no one was around to take care of me after that. I'm just saying, most people who drop off babies are single parents, in my experience.”

“How long were you there?”

“Dad died when I was seven, and someone picked me up for good when I was fifteen, so...seven years? I stayed at foster homes in the meantime, so it was on and off.”

“No one came for you until you were fifteen?”

“People want babies. What can you say to them if you're not gurgling and cute and crapping your pants every few hours?”

Shiro shrugs. 

“Honestly, not enough people adopt children. I get that you want to make one yourself, but there's already so many out there that don't have love. All the nuns and the people that run it--the orphanage--they mean well, but there's too many of us to make it work. It was never that good. And I'm not asking for pity, it's just how it is.”

Keith sips at his drink and scrunches up his face. “Wow. This actually isn't that good.”

“Try mine.” Shiro offers him the straw for the strawberries and creme even though he's finished half of his already. Keith tries it and has to admit he's right. This is delicious.

“Mmmm.”

“You like it that much? You can have the rest of it.”

“What are you gonna drink?”

Shiro waves him off. “Oh, I've already had my fill.”

“Do you want to try mine?”

“You already told me it's bad. Why would I drink it?”

“Maybe you have different taste buds.”

Shiro grabs his drink and takes a long pull. “Nope, you're right. Something about this latte is off. I used to be a barista, you know.”

“Really?”

Keith imagines Shiro behind the counter in an apron ready to serve him his drink and wonders if that Shiro was a far cry from the one in front of him, less world-weary, more naïve. Or maybe not. Baristas have to put up with a lot of shit, from customers who feel like they have to order the most complicated drink possible to people who won't stop flirting to working on the weekend, which sucks no matter what job you're in. 

“Yeah, at a cafe not 15 miles from here.”

“What was it like?”

“You have to deal with a lot of people. Which, depending on the day, can be fun, or it can be exhausting.”

If Shiro was a barista at a local cafe, Keith would go there every day. 

“What made you stop?”

“I found something better. This job at the museum. I always wanted to be involved with law enforcement, to help stand up for what's right, but it's hard work. Sometimes really hard.

“What do you do?” 

The question catches Keith off guard, and he plants the legs of his chair on the ground where he was rocking back so he can scramble to come up with a lie. “I'm a painter.” 

He considers saying he's a collector to stay closer to the truth, but that's an odd hobby for someone his age, and he doesn't want to give anything away. It's not a complete lie. He does paint. Sometimes. He just doesn't think what he turns out is good.

“That's nice. You should show me some of your paintings.”

“They're not very good.”

“Most of what's in that museum isn't very good. It's just expensive.”

“No, that's okay. A lot of them aren't finished, and it's more of a private thing, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” Shiro's face falls. He's gotten really good at disappointing Shiro over the past few days. When he robs the place, he'll be a master. “I wanted to know more about you.”

“If I tell you more, will you tell me about the robbery?”

“Promise to show me a painting, and I'll tell you.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Keith tells him he doesn't have any pictures on his phone, so they'll have to do it in person some time, but Shiro's okay with that. He tells him more about the orphanage, how he and the other kids grew up stealing, even though most of the nuns knew about it, and how he'd escape in art, paint the skyline even though the city treated him cruelly. 

It's more than Shiro needs to know, but as promised, he tells Keith about the robbery and shares some more stories about being a barista. When they're finished, Shiro flags down the waiter and asks for the check.

“How much is it?”

“I'll pay for you, Keith, it's fine.” Keith bites his lip.  
“So, you're leaving Saturday?” 

“Uh, yeah, just for a little bit. I might be back. I can stop by to say goodbye.” 

“I'm working that night.”

“I just want--

He knows that ideally, he and Shiro are never going to see each other again. On some level, Shiro seems to be aware of it, but how deep that awareness goes, he doesn't know. He doesn't want to leave, but Shiro isn't special. No matter how he makes him feel inside, no man is going to be better than the thing he has going with Pidge and Hunk and Lance. Staying in one place increases the likelihood that they'll get caught, so Keith's grown accustomed to jet-setting.

“I just want to say it was nice meeting you, Shiro. I think we have a connection, but this can't work out.”

“Because you're going?”

“Yes, and-

“You're not coming back?”

Keith looks at the ground. Shiro drags his chair over and drapes his arm over Keith's shoulder in one-armed hug.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“I can't, Shiro, I can't do that.” 

“Are you in danger?” he whispers, breath tickling loose strands of hair by Keith's ear.

“No.”

He relaxes in Shiro's hold awhile, enjoys the warmth because he doesn't know how long it'll be until he has it again. Even then, it won't be Shiro's. Shiro looks at him like he wants to say something more, and Keith's sure he looks that way, too.

At length, Shiro says, “Well, you can text me, always. I'll still be here.”

“Yeah. Let me know if you decide to adopt.” 

“Sure thing.”

They part ways, and Keith wonders how much of that the team heard. Not that they would think it odd, or anything, just personal. He smacks his lips and still tastes strawberries and creme.


	3. Aquamarine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Softly, his feet pad over the tile. They're in the West Wing, and they just have to make it down the hallway to unscrew the glass case and make off with the diamond. The world is a mess of shadows, and he hugs the walls as best he can, making sure not to disturb the paintings in their golden frames, made silver by the light.

Shiro wants to adopt. The man's way too young to be his parent, but if he'd had someone like that a little sooner when he was growing up, things would have turned out a lot different. It's endearing. If they don't ruin his career, some abandoned kid's going to be very happy.

Keith would adopt, but he has too many bad memories, and he's definitely not ready for a kid. It would be like the blind leading the blind.

“Pidge, could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on what it is. What do you want?”

“You think you could hack the schedules and change the rotation of the security guards? Shiro's working tonight.”

It's Saturday, T-0. 

“Isn't it a little late for that?”

“Come on, I pumped him for all the info you guys needed, the least you can do is save his job.”

“I'm pretty sure if that diamond gets stolen, the whole security team's getting fired, not just the people who were there. They contract out.”

“Yeah, well, could you at least save him some personal guilt? Get him off the job.”

“...Yeah, I'll make a phone call. No hacking needed when a simple ruse could suffice.”

The last thing Keith wants is to run into him. If it does occur, it'll be ironic, him once again running into Keith being a naughty child. Just like old times, with all the unpleasantness that goes along with them.

While she does that, he goes to sit on the steps outside in the fresh air. The wind whistles through the shattered windows of the warehouse, stirring the dust on the floor they couldn't sweep up. He's resting his chin on his hand, and he feels empty inside. Lonely. Days like this make Keith think of getting out.

There's nothing left to do now. The date's set for tonight, and they checked everything over. Now, all that's left to do is wait.

The four of them could pool the money they have left from the car thefts, buy a home, and go to college. Pidge already uses her cut to enroll in an online degree program, which is not a bad idea. 

Lance uses his money to buy cars after they sell the ones they steal. Since they can't be seen in stolen cars, he recycles the money to get his own. Keith likes fast cars, but Lance's cycle seems too much like futility for him to start it himself. He's content with the red motorcycle he bought at a used items sale and fixed up himself; he keeps it parked around the corner of the warehouse. It's always been enough for him.

But this time, when Lance pulls up to the curb in his blue Lamborghini, he decides he'd rather have company.

He pushes himself up off the stairs and dusts himself off. “Mind if I hop in?”

“Keith? Asking for a ride with me? Why, I'm flattered. Unfortunately, I don't pick up hitchhikers, especially not in this baby--”

“Let me in the car.”

He hears a click as Lance unlocks the door. Keith pulls the door open to the passenger side and jumps in. “Pushy. You could just hop over the side like a normal human being.”

“And risk you chiding me for getting shoe scuffs on the paint? No, thank you.”

“See, you would make a good car owner. You keep that up, I might even trust you to take care of blue for awhile.”

“You mean dump her with me while you go finish a job? I don't think so.”

“She's a Lamborghini, I hardly think you can dump her.”

“Your last girlfriend was a princess. And yet.”

“Distantly related to one. I have to admit that was a good diss though, especially since your boyfriend's museum security. How do you even fall for that one? I may date a lot of girls, but none of them are close enough to endanger the mission. This Shiro dude could be a real threat.”

“I had Pidge make sure he's not working the night we go in.”

“Oh. That's great. That's a huge relief, actually.”

“Yeah.” 

Sun bounces off the hood of the car and blinds them in its intensity. Keith can feel the heat radiating from here through the windshield.

“Keith?”

“Hm.”

“Why are you here?” 

“Can you just drive? Fast.”

“You need the adrenaline.”

“Yeah. Can you? Please.”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

\---

Keith climbs to the open second-story window by hauling himself up a rope attached to the balcony. Lance noticed fortuitously, during their scope-out phase, that one could easily throw a well-aimed grappling hook from the roof of the next building over and have it snag on the railing, so in the end, that's what they did. Keith threw the rope while Lance paid street performers to congregate down the block as a distraction. Now, here he is, about to make first entry.

He's hyperaware in the way one only is when one's doing something wrong, or thirty feet in the air. He's both, hence the increased senses. There's nothing on the streets, maybe a car racing in the distance. The wind blows by and chills him. He peers inside the black of the window and sees nothing: no lights, no people. The motion sensors are already disabled. 

He climbs over the windowsill, ignoring where it digs into his thigh, and signals to Lance, the next one up. Lance crawls up with even less difficulty, and they leave the rope swinging behind. By the time the authorities discover how they did it, they'll be long gone. 

Softly, his feet pad over the tile. They're in the West Wing, and they just have to make it down the hallway to unscrew the glass case and make off with the diamond. The world is a mess of shadows, and he hugs the walls as best he can, making sure not to disturb the paintings in their golden frames, made silver by the light. 

He hears voices in the next gallery and motions for Lance to stop. He can't tell what they're saying beyond a murmur, muffled through the walls. 

Lance moves his hand to his hip to check the weapon holstered there, and Keith realizes with horror that he forgot to load his gun. He hates guns, really--hates the cheap violence of them, but he's not a kid anymore. If something happens, they need to be ready.

“Something wrong?” Lance mouths. Something must show in Keith's expression.

Keith shakes his head and motions for them to continue on. They can't move until the voices leave, because the security guards are where they need to go, so they'll have to be patient. He's so focused on the guards in front of him that he fails to notice footsteps approaching behind him, until Lance yanks on his sweater and hisses, “Get down!” leaving the both of them hiding behind a well-placed car.

He thinks it's a car. It's oddly-shaped, a dark mass of mercy, and he thinks he saw it earlier but right now he can't care less what it is because he's focused on the footsteps. Beneath the frame, he can see leather shoes under bootcut slacks. Turning this way, turning that. The sweep of a beam. 

When the guard goes, Pidge exhales in his ear. “Guys, the top floor's crawling with security guards. I can count five between your position and the diamond alone. You might have to go around.”

Keith curses.

“Can't we just wait them out?”

“The longer you stay, the more dangerous it is. Remember, we want in, and out.”

“I know. It's just--this isn't ideal.”

With one last glance back at the breezeway, Keith hurries down the stairs and up another, Lance in tow. 

“Hey, Keith, you ever wonder if these cameras have any blind spots?”

He does. They do, but so do they. That's why Keith always does his best to keep a lookout, and keeps his fingers crossed that their luck will stretch far before it runs out. He wishes Lance would stop talking during missions. It's his nervous tic, but everyone needs comfort sometimes; he puts his hand on Lance's shoulder for reassurance.

He's glad they took the time to memorize the entire layout; it's always good to have another route in case they encounter something like this. His sneakers are soft on the tile.

When they reach the diamond, it gleams in front of them, but it isn't unguarded.

The moment passes, and suddenly Lance is confident again. “I'll distract the guards, you grab the gem.” Keith nods and waits for Lance to make his move. Suddenly it's just him, and the dust on the glass showing in the bright light.

He has it halfway in his backpack when a bright light flashes in his face.

“Stop right there!” 

He tries to hide his face in his shoulder, but it's too late. Whoever it is has probably already recognized him.

“Keith?”

Using his hand to shield his eyes from the worst of it, he sees, impossibly, that it's Shiro standing in front of him. Shiro's face contorts with pain before he schools his expression.

“Shiro?” he stutters in surprise, then calls out for Lance because they need to get out of here _now_. Then he turns back to Shiro.

“It was supposed to be your night off.”

“I had to fill in for a friend.”

“But we--”

“Drop the diamond.” 

Keith makes no move to do as he's told, clutching the bag harder. 

“ _Drop the diamond_.”

And then the walls start closing in, literally. The gallery has an open layout, but over each entrance steel starts to lower like a garage door.  
designed to trap them inside in cases like this.

Shiro lunges for the bag, trying to tear it away, and Keith holds onto it with all his might.

“Pidge, Pidge!” Keith grits out, trying to get her attention, but there's nothing left but static on the mic. 

“Let go!”

He knows if he doesn't get out of this tug-of-war that he and Shiro are playing, they're going to be trapped in here, and Shiro is a lot bigger than him so he would probably have an easier time subduing Keith, although he would fight like hell if he ever tried, but he doesn't want to give it up. They've worked for months on this. And if Shiro thinks he can just waltz in here and ruin it--

Shiro lets go and Keith and the jewel go flying across the room. Keith lands on his back. He kicks the jewel out past the boundaries of the room before the doors close. There's a small chance the rest of the team will pick it up or even find it before the rest of security gets in here, but at least Shiro won't take it back.

Something stings and he thinks he has a bloody lip from where the bag hit him when it went flying back towards his face. He runs to the door and kicks it, but there's no use. He wants to know where Lance went, is he okay, are the others? In his gut there's a feeling Pidge is in a bad situation, and his next thought is what Hunk's going to do waiting in the getaway vehicle around the corner when none of them come. Will he figure out that something's wrong and leave? No, he'll probably come back because his heart's in the right place and then they'll all be screwed. Shit.

“Freeze!”

“Shiro, I--”

“Stop moving!” Keith turns around and freezes, due to the sheer panic in Shiro's eyes. Shiro hasn't pulled his weapon, and yet here he is, stuck like a deer in the headlights. He puts his hands where Shiro can see them; they're all alone, for now, and the steel walls don't seem to be moving.

He doesn't know what to say. It's not Shiro's diamond, but he still feels like he's betrayed him.

“I really didn't want you to get involved in this.”

“Really? You weren't using me to get information about this museum's security so you could use it later? To think you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I did! I wasn't. If you weren't there, I would have gotten it some other way.”

“By catfishing another guard?”

“Excuse me?”

Keith hears sirens outside.

“We're going to talk about this later,” Keith says.

“Have an escape plan? _Thief?_ In the next few minutes, they'll have this place surrounded. They already have the cameras back from your friend, the hacker. It was really clever to splice old footage into the security feed. If it had gone unnoticed, you might be free now.”

Oh no, Keith could only imagine what they were doing with Pidge.

“Where is she? What'd you do with her, the hacker?”

“She's in the hands of the police. Just as you will be, soon, once they open those doors.”

He considers making a run for it, but once they open the doors, there'll be policemen with guns; he won't even have a chance to sprint to the window before they put a bullet in his back. He doesn't want to die yet, but with that out of the picture they'll throw him in jail, and he'll languish there for years and years. 

So he does the only thing he can do: he aims a kick at Shiro's chest.

But Shiro's had martial arts training, too. He catches the kick before it impacts his chest, and tries to twist Keith's leg before he rips it out of his grasp. Keith narrowly avoids losing his balance and even more narrowly avoids Shiro's grip by ducking and taking a step back from him.

He's up against the wall, but he spins against Shiro and pushes him away before Shiro can catch him. The last thing he wants is to be pinned down, but Shiro surges forward again and traps him against a wall.

“Keith. Stop fighting, there's no use. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Bullshit, you don't want to hurt me, you're going to turn me in to them and my life'll be over forever.”

“No, not forever. Look. You're still young, just give up, and I can help you and your friends through this, and we can start over. But if you hurt me, it's going to be harder to defend you in court.”

“Keith--”

Keith spits in his face. He steps on Shiro's foot, and as soon as he lets go, he's swinging at Shiro's face. He doesn't connect; instead, Shiro leans back effortlessly, clips the radio on his shoulder, and says, “Open up,” giving the go-ahead to open the metal doors.

Before he knows it, Keith's staring at his own demise. And he realizes his gun isn't loaded.

“On the ground! Hands behind your head!”

Keith raises the gun to Shiro's head.

“Take one step closer and I'll shoot!”

He sees the terror and hesitation in the officer's eyes.

“Keith, no.”

“Shut up.”

“I thought I knew you.”

“You did. But I didn't tell you about this part.”

“I thought we had something together.” 

“We did. But we don't anymore.” 

He plans to keep the gun to Shiro's head all the way to the window. Forget the diamond, forget the operation, once he gets out, he can use Shiro's life to bargain for Pidge and Lance. But Lance has always said he's like an open book. He can talk his way into any club, but he's never been good at deception. 

He doesn't know if it's the way his lip trembles, or the pleading pinch of his eyebrows that gives him away, but Shiro grabs his wrist violently and crowds his space to press their lips together in what Keith would call his first-ever kiss. 

In shock, he opens his eyes and feels Shiro prying the gun away from his fingers, which have now gone slack and are clutching at nothing. Methodically, business-like, Shiro presses the mag-release button and tries to tip the bullets out of the gun, only to find that nothing comes out; it's empty.

He looks at Keith in surprise as they drag him away. Then it's business as usual, and he leaves with the other guards to check the area.


End file.
